


Your eleven o' clock is here.

by MarvelsMenace



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M, Office Sex, PWP, Post Defenders, Pre Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16119524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: Matt decides to tell Foggy that he isnt in fact dead after the Defenders finale.  He's a bad human being and does this by making an appointment at Foggy's office. PWP





	Your eleven o' clock is here.

**Author's Note:**

> Dont tell me that the dumpster fire of a human being Matt Mudock wouldnt do this shit.  
> BETA'd by myself because im tired.

A soft knock on the frosted glass of his office door pulls him out of his daze, and he gives a tired smile to the receptionist fighting to get and keep his attention on a daily basis. Cathy, Carol? Something like that, they kind of have a rotation of them going. He gives her a tired, albeit apologetic smile.

“Sorry, got lost in the notes for the Smith case. What am I late for?”

She laughs, a natural warmth in it that he may have called cute when he wasn’t running on fumes.

“Your last appointment before lunch is here. After that you’ve got an hour of freedom before the monthly meeting.”

“Great. Can you show them in while I finish this?”

“Of course, do you want more coffee?”

Franklin Nelson kicks around the idea before shaking his head.

“Better not. I’ll crash mid appointment.”

Caitlin? Nods and departs, leaving his door open for her short return. She pushes the door open a bit wider on her return, and he has to give her a second glance at the slightly alarmed looks she passes him. But then his client is shuffling through and he understands. The man is dressed in layers meant for mid-winter, not early September, a thick canvas coat thrown on over it all. He’s kind of surprised at the baseball hat perched on top of his head instead of a knit cap. Foggy has had stranger scenes come into his tiny office, seen even stranger ones in the waiting room and through the glass walls of the more important offices. It makes him thankful for the privacy of dry wall, though he does remind himself of the panic button just to the edge of his knee under the edge of the desk.

“Let me know if you need anything Mister Nelson.”

“Thank you.”

The assistant closes the door behind her, and Foggy takes a steadying breath, flipping through the nearly blank paperwork he had been given that morning with the rest of the day’s. He looks up, regretting not getting a cup of coffee as he speaks.

“I’m Franklin Nelson, though since you requested me personally, I’m going to assume that you already knew that.”

He folds his hands on the top of the desk, staring as if his eyes will burn through the brim of the hat the other man? Is wearing. He lifts his head a fraction and the presence of facial hair confirms his assumption. The man opposite him raises a shaky hand, and Foggy tenses before forcing him to relax. He’s got people that doesn’t like him, but nobody that he could think of that would make an appointment to intentionally hurt him. The hat comes off while his head is still lowered, Foggy can see the legs of sunglasses poking back over his ears beneath messy black hair. But when the man lifts his head while removing his glasses, Foggy is already up and out of his chair, feeling the blood drain from his face until he is cold and clammy.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Before him sits one very not dead Matthew Murdock.

“Foggy, I-“

“No!” He all but shouts, reigning himself in. “No. You don’t get to speak.”

Matt nods across him, and Foggy paces as Matt removes his ridiculous jacket, showing what had he had assumed to be bulky layers beneath was in fact thick layers of bandaging that poked out from the collar of a half-unbuttoned shirt. He smelled of herbs and medicated ointment, and part of him wanted if he had been nursing himself back to heath in some primitive cave until he was strong enough to return to society. 

“Jesus Fucking Christ Mathew.”

He flinches across him and Foggy is seriously considering more blasphemy as he all but pills his hair out by the root.

“You’ve been missing, thought dead, for months! We didn’t have a body to bury, the wake at Josie’s almost killed me. Luke Cage cried! No word, no sign, nothing! Shit I would have taken a barely legible note via carrier pigeon, a message in a bottle from a drugged up drifter. Anything!”

Foggy forces himself to breathe, stalking around the large desk with a walk that has Matt flinching with each step. He stops at its front, leaning his weight back on the edge as he crosses his arms. Agitation is coursing through him with so many other feelings he wants to vomit in the trash can under his desk.

“So how do you let someone know? You show up at my office with a God damn appointment.”

Matt blinks wide unseeing eyes, finally looking up to Foggy’s face. A corner of his mouth lifts, and it makes Foggy’s heart jump for only a second before he wants to hit him so hard he falls out of a chair. 

His voice is rough when he speaks, like he hasn’t been doing much of that.

“Well, it took me a while to get an appointment. I figured you wouldn’t kill me with witnesses.”

“And if you were wrong?”

“I’d probably deserve it. I wasn’t supposed to make it out of there alive.”

The tone of wrecked guilt that comes from Matt stirs a fresh wave of anger from his gut, and he clenches his fists, the bite of his nails in his palms grounding him. 

“Stand up.”

Matt doesn’t argue before him, doesn’t offer a sarcastic comment or biting remark and Foggy doesn’t know what do with himself when he actually complies, shuffling on his feet, looking so small out of those ridiculous layers. He doesn’t flinch as Foggy moves closer, focuses on Foggy’s face so he cant telegraph the strike that he’s sure is coming. Even though he’s expecting the touch, he still jumps at the brush of skin on his bearded cheek, and he opens his mouth in question, only to be silenced by a savage kiss. It’s rough and biting, and hard, everything he didn’t know he needed until he’s clawing at long hair at the other man’s cheeks trying to pull him closer with a weak noise. 

Foggy lets him up for half a breath before he’s back against him, pulling him impossibly close, fingers scrambling at tender flesh as if Matt will fall through his grip like sand in an hour glass. He forces himself away for a real breath, ribs complaining at his rapid intake of air, a hiss slipping through his teeth as Foggy digs his fingers into the back of his neck, mouth doing something obscene to the hollow below his ear with his tongue and teeth.

“Foggy- I, oh shit, fuck me. Please-”

The request breaks something in him, and Foggy all but growls, turning them before all but shoving Matt up against the desk, the dull scrape of the piece of furniture on the floors barely registering. He licks into Matt’s mouth with a sort of greed until he’s boneless beneath him, all but holding onto Foggy.

“What makes you think you deserve that?”

The question if cruel, he knows it. But its more than fucking called for after the hell he’s been through, the long nights drinking with his Karen or the longer ones with him drinking at home by himself. Matt gasps under him as a daring hand palms his eager erection through his pants, the press firm and direct. 

“I-I don’t.”

At least Matt knows how much he’s fucked up this time. 

His calloused hands reach up to touch him, but he slaps them away with his free hand, brain working quickly through the haze of blood rerouting south. Foggy pulls back, taking a step back for good measure before he gets distracted.

“We do this my way. Hands stay on the desk. No touching.”

Matt makes a needy sort of noise, reaching out though his ass his still half on top of the surface of his desk. Foggy pops him on the hand, none too gently.

“You don’t listen. I kick you out. You show me you can follow basic rules for once in your damn life, I might actually listen to your bullshit explanations.”

He walks around the desk quickly and slightly bow legged, the zipper of his pants an uncomfortable pressure on his cock. His hands move quick despite the tremor in them, clearing all important papers and moving them out of the way of immediate harm. Matt jumps when he clears his throat, obediently silent as he pages the secretary to list him as working through lunch, and that he is not to be disturbed unless the building is burning. She seems concerned that he may be in a possible hostage situation, but takes his assurances that he is fine more or less. 

He knows better than to even attempt this fucking poor decision, no pun intended, with his back to the door, so he settles himself into his chair, staring at Matt’s back before he has a plan. He pulls out the bottom drawer of his desk for the bottle of lotion he keeps around because shaking hands with people is gross and washing them so much made his hands crack thanks. Foggy luckily has a condom in his wallet from his last night out and fishes it out, laying it out of the way for his next step. He hangs his jacket on the back of his chair, rolling up his shirt sleeves at a leisurely pace before he speaks. 

“Come around behind my desk Matthew.”

His head whips to catch his voice, and a full body shiver travels down his spine, but Matt is still obedient, his body stiff from the fluidity Foggy remembers as he gets his weight to his feet, steps silent until he’s standing before him. There’s a pang in him, his heart stuttering a beat, and Matt isn’t used to being around people who know him, because he twitches, eyes flicking in the direction of the sound he must be hearing as a damn echo in such a small room.

“Turn around. Place your hands on the desk. Do not break my paper weight.”

Matt gives him the smirk that has lured many a body into his clutches, and Foggy’s heart does something stupid again as he stands, smoothing a hand down Matt’s back as he settles himself into something in the realm of comfortable.

“Don’t lie to me. How hurt are you? If you start bleeding through your shirt, I’ll be pissed.”

Matt makes a noise of amusement, head hanging between his arms.

“I’ll be okay with anything you dish out Fogs, I might not be able to move tomorrow, but I’ll be alright.”

Foggy makes a dubious noise as he trails his hands down Matt’s sides, feeling the muscles jump under his shirt where there isn’t the barrier of bandages beneath. His chest is substantially wrapped, but it seems like it might be more for compression purposes than actual bandaging for open wounds. The man below him sighs as he moves to his chest, the press of fingers more insistent against the muscles of his abdomen before he’s working open the leather belt at his hips.

He had flagged a little bit in the tense silence, worried he had asked too much, had done too much, but the gentle hands had renewed his interest and he fought an eager moan as a soft hand slowly drew down the zipper and slipped in beneath the band of his underwear to palm him. It had been too long, and it only takes a few minutes before he’s panting into the desk, hips twitching to bottom out in the achingly slow rhythm Foggy was using.

Matt makes a needy noise beneath him, and Foggy does not need this shit in his life, because if he’s this loud with just a slow hand job, Foggy can’t trust him to keep them from getting caught. He reaches back to his jacket and all but rips the pocket square of silk from his breast pocket and dangles it in front of Matt’s face. He’ll feel cruel about it later, but he knows Matt can sense it’s there, sees him flare his nostrils and lick his lips.

“You’re noisy. Open your mouth.”

Matt agrees instantly, jaw hanging open for Foggy to stuff the material into his waiting maw, he can feel whatever it is catch on the coarse hair of coating his jaw. Fate must have been laughing at Foggy this morning as he got dressed, the square and tie a deep red that had just seemed to call to him. He hadn’t worn the damn think since Matt’s wake, hadn’t been able to not wear something red, as much as he hated Daredevil, he knew what it meant to Matt. Foggy shakes off that train of thought, rocking his hips as Matt fidgets below him.

The material between his teeth unsettles him, a near cringe worthy sensation, like accidentally biting foil before the accident. But he’s got things to make up for, a penance to pay. Matt pushes back at Foggy eagerly, makes a muffled noise at the sting of a blow landing on his hip through the thin material of his boxer briefs.

“I’m getting there. You want this to be pleasant or not?”

Matt bobs his head in a yes motion, and forces himself still, muscles tense as foggy tugs down the waistband of his underwear until they rest just below the curve of his ass, keeping his cock trapped in its textile prison. Foggy similarly undresses behind him, the metal ring of his belt followed by the buzzing of a lowered zipper. The whisper of pants sliding over thighs dusted with coarse hair. 

Foggy’s shirt is stiff as he presses himself to Matt’s back, probably wrinkling beyond today’s repair. He grinds against the meat of Matt’s ass through his boxers, body warm and eager as it presses back against him. The Lotion is just within reach and he presses himself closer, kissing at Matt’s exposed neck and grazing the teeth with his skin with the first tentative touch of his fingers. The chance for Matt to change his mind if he’s being honest with himself. His voice surprises himself when he speaks, low and rough. He moves his hands down to cup his balls, lifting his thumb to rub just right until Matt is panting wetly into his pocket square slash gag.

“Let’s see your multitasking. I want to know if anybody comes down this hallway. Understood?”

Matt presses back into his grip, and Foggy presses his fingers in a tight circle before drawing his hand away, ignoring the pitiful noise the devil of Hell’s Kitchen makes until he gets an answer. It gives him an excuse to get more lotion. 

“God, Yes. Foggy Please.”

Foggy rewards him with the press of a finger, curling until Matt his jerking against him with a choked noise. He teases him for a few more strokes until he adds another finger, the rhythm flighty and stuttered until sweat is seeping through Matt’s shirt and he’s making a broken sort of whine below him and pushing back against him with a muffled beg for more. 

Matt presses his forehead to the desk as Foggy’s fingers leave him, heaving breaths in through his nose, taking in the smell of Foggy’s excitement and arousal mingled with his sweat and the polished wood of the desk. He hears the grind of teeth of foil and winces, but then Foggy’s heart rate spikes and what Matt wouldn’t give to watch him touch himself before he rolls the condom on. At least one of them is prepared.  
There’s a wet noise as Foggy adds lotion to his cock, and then he’s gripping Matt’s hips and pressing into him and there’s a hot spot light of sensations until Foggy brushes against his prostate and his fingers claw at the desk with the urge to sink his nails into the wood and just anchor himself. Matt wonders how long these unsaid feelings have been there, but there’s a rough thrust against him and he ceases to think beyond begging for it harder, and faster, and just more. 

Foggy fucks Matt with everything he’s been feeling in these last few months. Anger and resentment sorrow and hope bubbling in his chest until he’s bent over with Matt’s shirt collar in his teeth to muffle his grunts and words. Matt is pushing against him, greedy for all he can give and more, groaning as Foggy grips his hips tighter, holds him still as he all but ruts against him like some sort of animal.  
It’s only a moment later, but it feels like hours when Matt stiffens below Foggy, body arching to press himself closer as ecstasy rips through him and he’s coming in ribbons inside his boxer briefs. Foggy fucks him through it, moving to kiss and lick at his neck until he can lift his head and offer his jaw. At least the stubble should hide the teeth marks. He manages a few more erratic thrusts before there’s a warm flood from within and Foggy is coming, hips stuttering as he mumbles into Matt’s jaw.

They stay like that for a few minutes, hard breathing, and the ticking of a clock the only noise in the room. Foggy disentangles himself and takes care of the condom, hoping that if he balls it up in a newspaper that maybe it will pass unnoticed in the trash can. He rights his pants before pressing his fingers into Matt’s hips as he straightens, rubbing with his thumbs at the small of his back to help any ache that may have formed. Matt makes a face as he pulls up his underwear and pants, trying to make himself look less debauched. 

Foggy plucks the ruined pocket square from his grinning mouth with a shake of his head, dropping it alongside the lotion in his bottom desk drawer before kicking it closed. Part of him is terrified that Matt will vanish again, that this will be time he sees him. He forces himself to speak, moving in close to bite at his jaw before fixing his limp and soggy collar.

“Now Matthew. Here’s what’s going to happen. You and your sloppy ass are going to walk back to my apartment, shower, find some clothes, and try not to fucking die. I have an afternoon of responsibilities like a real adult. I’ll grab something on the way home for us to eat, and then we are going to talk. Understood?”

A deeper hued flush climbs up Matt’s face, rising over the delicate sort of pink that had already been present from their indecent activities.

“Your fire escape is still over a dumpster, right? Climbing is kind of haphazard right now.”

Foggy rolls his eyes, knowing damn well Matt can hear it, watching as he shrugs back into his ugly coat.

“If I have to drag you out of the dumpster, you’ll miss out on what I’m planning on doing to you when I get home.”

Matt stumbles on the way to the door and seems to make a snap decision before crossing back to Foggy to pull him into a filthy kiss.

“Work day ends at five o clock.”

Foggy probably should miss the lack of chaos that is probably going to come to a halt in his life. But as he watches Matt walk down the hall to the lobby, he thinks it might be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)


End file.
